


the chattering lack of common sense

by orphan_account



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Hallucinating, I Don't Even Know, Mild Gore, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Vent Writing, but if I don't, but you have absolutely no idea what the fuck is going on, i am doing god's work just so i can post this shit for y'all, i didn't have any either, i wrote this in the middle of a breakdown iirc, i'll probably remove this in .2 seconds, just please don't be mean to me, please don't be mean, this is the product of childhood trauma and a mental breakdown, this was barely even coherent, we flashbacking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-31 03:03:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21058940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Nothing lines up anymore.





	the chattering lack of common sense

White noise. Black noise. White noise.

White lines. Black lines. And again, white lines.

A grey, incomprehensible mass. It all fades into black, white, grey. The male's brain can't keep up. It gives him a headache.

He aches, and he aches. He opens his mouth to scream, but no one is around to help. He continues to ache.

He sits on the bed. He wonders.

Wonders why it is like this. Wonders how things turned out to be like this. He can't stop thinking. It overflows. He collapses.

He claws and claws, until his face is bleeding. He wants to ache more. He wants to bleed. He wants to get bad. He wants people to get so bad people are too late to care about him. And he continues to claw.

Down his neck, down his sides, on his stomach.

He enjoys bleeding.

**White noise.**

He's sitting in a room, on a sofa, looking out the window and wondering.

How long is it going to be like this?

The clock in the room has stopped, and so has time. The streets are empty. The trees are solid. The sky is grey. It's all he had ever seen. Grey, black and white.

His eyes are empty. His soul is empty.

He feels nothing as he feels the noose tighten around his neck.

It's supposed to be like this.

**Black noise.**

He's sitting at the dining table, his father on one side, his mother on the other,

"How's studying going?" the female asks.

"Better than last year" he speaks, but his mouth is shut fast.

He looks at the meat set on the table and he wonders.

Wasn't I here before once?

He unfeelingly takes a piece of it into his mouth.

He feels his blood and guts pour.

His mother and father watch him.

**White lines.**

He's laying on the bed, hugging his blanket close and tight. He looks at the wall and he wonders.

Has it always been so grey?

He hears the lock click, he feels slick hands touch him.

He gives in.

The touch burns, but he endures.

Maybe if he let his voice out, he could have stopped this. Maybe if he didn't endure, he wouldn't be feeling like this.

But he's here, slick, dirty hands all over him, his unfeeling face staring at t he grey wall, his skin charring to ash.

The stranger watches him. The stranger continues to touch him. The stranger endures.

**Black lines.**

He's sitting in a classroom, everyone but him is completely solid, frozen in their movements.

"Don't you wish we could just live like this forever?" his friend asks, and he wonders.

Do I wish I could control time? Maybe if I could, I wouldn't be feeling like this.

He stands up, taking the chalk and drawing a knife.

Sudden, sharp pain in his back. Blood soaking through his white shirt.

"You should have seen this coming."

His friend watches him. He laughs.

The male endures.

"I did."

**A grey, incomprehensible mass.**

He's sitting on the bed again. He sees patterns. He sees timelines. He sees his own soul getting wrenched over and over again.

It doesn't line up. Nothing lines up.

He cries. He claws at his face.

The skin comes off like paper. He continues until he's only bleeding. The bedsheets are blood crimson. He bathes.

He wonders.

Maybe it wouldn't have had to come to this.

**White noise. Black noise. White lines. Black lines.**

And he jolts up, a headache creeping up.

The cycle repeats.

**Author's Note:**

> i was listening to [this](https://youtu.be/ksW7SuH6IAs) song and it seemed like a perfect title for this drabble that's been sitting in my docs for a while now. vent writing, product of probably my longest breakdown and flashback ever. really short for a novel, fic or a story, but i'm still working on the 86 au. i hope this wasn't too atrocious.


End file.
